


Enjoltaire Winter Week [English]

by 2W_NikiAngel



Series: Les Misérables Challenge [4]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Christmas, Established Relationship, Fluff, Friendship, Ice Skating, Light Angst, M/M, Not Beta Read, Pre-Relationship, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:47:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27941021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2W_NikiAngel/pseuds/2W_NikiAngel
Summary: A collection of non-consecutive oneshots written as part of the december challenge byEnjoltaire-Winter-Week. All parts are written for pair Enjolras/Grantaire at different stages of the relationship.[Český originální text/Czech original]
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Series: Les Misérables Challenge [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947769
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15
Collections: Enjoltaire Winter Week 2020





	1. Family

**Author's Note:**

> The first part of the challenge is here! We'll see each other all week now. You are looking forward? :)

When Grantaire opened the oven, a transparent cloud of heat and the smell of freshly baked vanilla candy flooded through the kitchen. Grantaire put on his gloves and pulled out the plate. He closed the oven and placed the plate on a wooden board next to the sink. “Yes,” he whispered as he inspected all the cookies and found that they were properly baked. “Gavroche will love them,” he laughed, remembering his best friend's younger brother's face. They had known each other for years, so he knew they would be alone again at Christmas. Although Éponine still said she didn't care — she never liked being known only by her lying father or evil mother — but he always noticed her eyes darken a little on that one day of the year and fade away with a mischievous shine. She didn't celebrate a birthday, nor did she know what important holidays had ever been, but Christmas was something else - it was a day when she wanted to make the one person she cared about so happy. Her brother. And even as he laughed from ear to ear, he thanked him for all the gifts she had bought him all year round from the alms that couldn’t even be considered a payment; her heart ached. She wanted more than just a few presents for him under an old tree from which artificial needles were already falling to the ground. She wanted to give him warmth, joy, a  _ home _ . And she never felt any of that during the celebrations.

That's why Grantaire decided not only to bake them candy this year - which he had been doing for five years - but to invite them to his apartment. He spent Christmas just with a bottle of wine or calling with his friends. He never celebrated them, not because he was against the very concept of this holiday or because he wasn’t very pious - he just didn’t celebrate them. It felt like another winter day. He admired the lights on the houses, loved the hot grog, liked to bake cookies, or sang Christmas carols, but he didn't need to sit at the table with his family at night and hand out empty presents with fake smiles. His family made him feel so disgusted with the holidays that he didn't even regret being home alone.

Maybe it wasn't until he met these two siblings, whose fate wasn't exactly the most fabulous, that something broke in him. He always visited them, ate a few bites of too much sweet food and burned his eyes from films about humility and family. Seeing their smiles, it was worth a day to get over it and instead of getting drunk on the couch at home, sprawled on the sofa at Éponine and watching another sweetened Christmas movie.

His phone rang as he put another plate in the oven. He wiped his smeared hands with flour and dough on the apron he had tied around his hips and picked up the phone from the table, which was already hopping impatiently. When he saw the familiar name on the display, he smiled broadly. “Enjolras,” he said happily as he picked up the call. “What do I owe for the call?”

“…Do you have time?” 

“For you? Always.”

“Could you go out in front of your apartment?”

Before Grantaire could answer, Enjolras ended the call. Grantaire stood still for a moment, looking blankly ahead, his eyebrows dangerously close. He frowned and placed his cell phone on the table. He walked over to the window so he could look down when he noticed - yes, Enjolras was standing in front of the main door to the panel house. He could also see , even from the fourth floor, how his hair shone beautifully under the light of the lamp. “You bastard,” he laughed to himself, tossing the apron on the couch and running quickly out of the apartment. He didn't wait for the elevator and started taking the stairs in pairs to be downstairs as soon as possible.

When he opened the main door, an unpleasant cold hit him in the face first. It was already a few degrees below zero. Steam immediately began to rise from his mouth. He tucked his hands in his trouser pockets and ran down a few steps. He whistled in displeasure. There was already an inch of snow on the ground, uncomfortably cooling him on his feet, which he only had in slippers. He forgot to change. He just shook his head at his stupidity. 

“Grantaire.” The brunette finally looked ahead to where Enjolras stood. He was wearing a beautiful, long, red coat that perfectly underlined his radiant blond hair, blue eyes, and white skin. A pair of snowflakes glistened in his hair, his cheeks and the tips of his ears being cute pink. He had a cotton scarf around his neck that shone with all the colors. Everyone got it from Jehan for Christmas last year. He made something for them every year. Everyone appreciated this gift, every other winter in Paris was colder.

“Enjolras,” Grantaire said, and if any of their friends stood beside them, he would make a gasping sound. Grantaire's voice was soft, a few octaves higher, and melted as if he had just tasted the sweetest praline. He took a step forward, hoping to hug Enjolras, dig his nose into his shoulder, and suck his scent vigorously. It always smelled different, he never used the same cologne twice. However, his hands remained comically outstretched halfway. Before he could touch him, he noticed that the left side of his face glowed red a little more than his right. It took him only a few seconds to realize that his face was drawn with a few lines that looked strangely like fingerprints. “Enjo—”

“It's okay,” the blond said, noticing where Grantaire was looking. He tilted his head slightly to the side and adjusted the other. 

“Like the hell it is,” Grantaire said firmly, unaware of the coldness he felt on his feet, and walked over to Enjolras. He grabbed his arm with his left hand and under his chin with his right. He made him look at him. But lightly, Enjolras didn’t defend himself. He turned his head back as before Grantaire could see him. “Enjolras…” Grantaire whispered, confused. “What happened?”

“I didn't like it anymore, Grantaire,” he admitted, sitting on the subject behind him. Only now did Grantaire notice that Enjolras was holding the handle of his suitcase all the time. When he sat down, he was a little lower than Grantaire, who suddenly felt as if the blond was a few years younger. Maybe it was the dim light or the tears that began to pour in his eyes. Grantaire wanted them to disappear immediately. They didn't suit him. He placed his palms on his shoulders and approached him. Enjolras didn’t resist their proximity, grabbed Grantaire around the waist and placed him between his knees. “I couldn't lie.”

“Lying about what?”

“That I'm happy only because I have good results at school and got a job at Lamarque, that I was looking forward to Christmas or that I was able to solve the first case in court.” He reached out to Grantaire and adjusted his restless hair curling on his forehead. “I wanted to tell the truth. Boasting that one black-haired devil is to blame for this, who kicks me out of my sleep at night and is too noisy and sometimes too vulgar and likes to drink very much and is in love with me. Just like me with him.”

“Enjolras…”

The blond smiled sadly at him and moved his hand to his ear. Grantaire was sensitive there. He fidgeted and growled contentedly. “They didn't take it well.” 

“I'm sorry,” Grantaire said truthfully as he finally hugged Enjolras. He rested his head on his chest. He knew that his heartbeat had always reassured him. He began massaging his fingers in his hair, which was again a little softer than a week ago, when he had last touched them at the station, where they had said goodbye to Enjolras so he could spend the Christmas holidays with his family. Grantaire never minded, perhaps because he didn't celebrate Christmas and Enjolras loved them in secret, though he would never admit it out loud. Whenever he returned, he told him for long hours about traditions, the whole family, what they ate, what they did, what they talked about. Grantaire felt that they had become his own family, and he knew them so well that he could talk to them as longtime friends. “Really.” 

“It doesn't have to, Grantaire,” Enjolras whispered, but he squeezed him a little harder around his hips. “I wanted them to know. I have no reason to be ashamed. I have a boyfriend I love and I want to spend these holidays he hates so much with him.”

“That's not true,” Grantaire said indignantly, pulling away from Enjolras. “I just don't celebrate them.”

“But you could. With us. With me. In our house. All together.”

Grantaire was silent for a moment before asking, “Is that what you told them?”

“Yes. I wanted to call you to come. But… ” He paused. It was clear to Grantaire. Enjolras' parents were strict, conservative and old-fashioned. Enjolras still loved them for some reason. He didn't talk about them often, but when he had the chance, he always considered how hardworking his parents, his principled father, and his empathetic mother were. About how they built a million-dollar company out of nothing. About how they always remained generous and money didn’t change them in any way. About how his mother miraculously became pregnant despite a dysfunctional ovary, so they were always worried and scared about every detail in his life and cared for him as their treasure. But they tried all the more to make him the perfect son according to their ideas. And Grantaire didn't fit into those.

Grantaire noticed that Enjolras's eyes twinkled even more and suddenly had too much water in the corner of his eye. He approached him, placed his palms on his cheeks and leaned over him. “Enjolras…” 

“They told me they didn't have a son anymore.” His tears welled up before Grantaire could kiss him. He rubbed his lips gently, tasted their cherry flavor — Enjolras suffered from dry mouth in the winter, so he used fruit balms — and moaned contentedly. His fingers began to massage him on his temples, and his lips took care of his own. He swallowed all the painful sighs that didn't stand a chance to cut through the silence around them. They kissed for a moment before Enjolras pulled away from him so he could take a deep breath. “I'm sorry,” he said weakly, placing one palm on his, all wet from his tears. “It's stupid to cry.”

“Come with me,” Grantaire urged, pulling away from him and holding out his hand. Enjolras wiped away all tears, accepted his hand, and with the other began to pull his suitcase behind him. They boarded the elevator, rubbing their shoulders against each other. When the elevator rang and they could come out, the brunette wanted to say something when he smelled the pleasant scent of vanilla and lemon. “Damn!” He shouted, frightened and made Enjolras jump. He ran to the door, unlocked it quickly, didn't even take off his dirty slippers, and ran to the kitchen. There was a strong smell of dough in it. He quickly opened the oven, from which thick, greyish smoke began to flow. “No,” he muttered as he pulled out a baking sheet containing several charred pieces of bread. 

“Everything’s alright?” Enjolras asked as he reached the apartment, locked behind him and walked into the living room, which was separated from the kitchen only by a kitchen unit. He took off his coat and threw it on the sofa, which he immediately sat on. 

“One batch in the grove,” he muttered unhappily. 

“You left the oven on and left the apartment?”

“Yes,  _ Dad _ ,” Grantaire laughed and sighed. “I was distracted by an angel who decided to appear in front of my house and steal all my attention.”

“Sorry.” But it was clear from Enjolras's voice that he didn't mean it.

Grantaire crossed his arms over his chest and took a few steps toward Enjolras. “When an angel makes up for it…” An hour and a half later, after a few pieces of clothing that rolled all over the ground; after a few squeaking sounds echoing off the walls and their loud moans drying their throats, Grantaire lay on his stomach, playing with Enjolras's hair. He lay on his back in his naked beauty, one hand slung over his stomach, the other casually under his head, breathing lightly. He looked satisfied. However, the brunette noticed red spots around his eyes. Although he didn’t comment, he felt a few tears dripping down his back as they made love. Whether Enjolras tried to be cold and rational about the situation, it was clear that he was affected. 

After ten minutes, Grantaire stood up. Careful so as not to wake Enjolras by the loud squeak of the bed - he kept telling himself that it was time to replace the slats under the bed, but he always forgot about it, perhaps because they mostly made love in Enjolras’ aparment, who boasted a huge, new and soft bed where there was definitely nothing creaking - he bent down for his T-shirt, which he had almost halfway up his thighs and walked back to the kitchen. He reached for the phone, which was still on the table. He dialed the number of his best friend, who picked up on the second ring, and after the annoying -  _ Grantaire, it's almost half past ten, what do you want?! -  _ he said, “Éponine, do you think you can do something for me?”

When Enjolras woke up, the first he noticed was the strong smell of chocolate and coffee. Only then did laughter and a voice reach his ears, which seemed to double and echo. He frowned. He didn't want to open his eyes and get up from the heated duvet yet, but curiosity forced him. He opened his eyes. He lay alone in bed, depending on how cold it was on the other half of the bed, Grantaire had been awake for a few hours. He used to get up before dawn, when he received the most inspiration for his works. He sat down and stretched. He heard a loud laugh across the wall, which certainly didn’t belong to Grantaire. He turned to the wall as if he could see something. “Strange,” he said, getting out of bed. He put on his pants and laughed when he noticed that he was missing a T-shirt. Grantaire always stole his clothes. He said he felt as if he were hugging him and still with him. He pulled one of Grantaire's larger T-shirts out of the closet — for a good five minutes, looking for one that wouldn't have splashes of paint — and left the bedroom.

When he entered the living room, he finally understood. The warmth he felt wasn’t caused by lighted candles scenting the room with orange and vanilla, or by an oven in which other sweets were baked; but the familiar warmth of his friends who were in the apartment. Bahorel sat at a table pouring eggnog to the brim of his glass. His face and the tip of his nose were all red from alcohol. He was about to ask him if it was too early to drink alcohol, but when he looked over the sofa - on which sat Jehan, Éponine, and Gavroche, who together formed a long chain from colored papers - it was a little after half past one in the afternoon. . Grantaire and Joly were cooking together in the kitchen, and next to the sink, on the kitchen counter, sat Bossuet, holding his finger with a cotton swab. The white cotton was almost all red. Apparently he cut himself while cooking.

“What's going on here?” He asked with a smile on his face. 

“Sleeping Beauty woke up! I have to drink then,” Bahorel said, drinking the whole glass in one gulp. 

“Look, look!” Gavroche shouted, showing him the chain they were forming. Éponine stroked his hair with a smile on her face. She loved seeing her brother happy. 

“You're awake,” Grantaire said, walking over to him and snuggling unobtrusively. Even though they had been officially dating for a year, none of their friends had seen them doing something intimate before. They left their intimacy to the privacy of their home. 

But now Enjolras didn't care now. He wrapped one arm around Grantaire's waist, put the other on his cheek, and leaned over to kiss him. Just a second for Bahorel to whistle, Joly chuckled, and Éponine rolled her eyes, covering the Gavroches with her palm and whispering something to herself. Grantaire blinked in confusion, but couldn't help but smile, which made his cheeks flush with nervousness. “What was that for?”

Enjolras shrugged. “Why?” Grantaire frowned. “Why all of this?”

“Well, one bird used to sing to me about how much you love Christmas and like to celebrate it, and it seemed unimaginable for me to break it after years. So I called the only rescue that I have.” With that, he spread his arms to point to everyone in the room. Everyone looked at them contentedly. “Only one doctor is already somewhere in Lyon with his family, and one fucking man, with whom we don't understand how he can study law, is getting drunk with a gang in Amsterdam somewhere.” Enjolras nodded. He and Combeferrer were always among the first to go home at Christmas and were also the last to return. He knew that if the older had an opportunity to be in Paris, he certainly wouldn’t refuse an invitation to the party. Courfeyrac has been announcing since July that he has decided to go on a road trip around Europe with a group of friends university before the end of the year. 

“And Feuilly?” Enjolras asked, but immediately bit his lip. They both loved him, but after Grantaire learned that Enjolras had been in love with Feuilly for some time, and his feelings for him were so deep that they didn’t change even when they both found partners; when he mentioned his name, Grantaire was sometimes - well,  _ unbearable _ . Although Enjolras had told him several times that he had nothing to fear, as he and Feuilly had said it several times and agreed that they would only be friends - Feuilly's planned wedding with his longtime girlfriend was supposed to be proof of that - it only worked until moments until they quarreled again. It didn't happen often, but it was still unresolved between them.

This time, however, Grantaire just laughed and shook his head. “Your  _ darling  _ still has some work to do at the orphanage. He'll come for dessert.” 

“He's not my  _ darling _ ,” Enjolras said uncomfortably, and Grantaire just laughed at him. A pleasant, kind voice he adored so much. Enjolras leaned back against Grantaire. He kissed his forehead and rubbed his nose against his. “Thank you,” he whispered so that only the brunette could hear. 

“For what?” 

“For making me remember that I never lost my family. _You_ are my family.”


	2. Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story was supposed to look a little different, but since it would be the only one that would violate the G/T rating, I decided to adjust it a bit and in the end this sweet story came out of it. :D Do you like it?

When Grantaire arrived at the Musain Café, unlike the other days, when, at minus thirty, he was walking through the café in tight jeans and a leather jacket; he was wrapped in a bushy, black coat, a purple scarf tied around his neck - which was certainly not his, but his best friend Éponine's - and gray gloves on his hands. He was trembling, cursing at the snow and saying something about hating December. He sat down at the table where his two best friends were sitting. Bossuet immediately began to serve him a full mug of mulled wine, while Joly began to check his forehead with his palm, as if measuring his temperature.

“So now, we can start,” said Enjolras, who was asked by everyone to begin today. As soon as he said the first sentence, instead of asking, there was only a faint sneeze and a quiet  _ Sorry _ . Enjolras took a deep breath and began from the beginning. Sneezing repeated - the second time, the third time, the fourth time. When Grantaire sneezed for the tenth time, Enjolras looked at him. Everyone in the room repeated it after him. “Are you all right?”

Grantaire pulled the snot back into his nose and muttered. “Yeah, don't worry, Apollo. I will not interrupt you anymore.”

“I didn't care about that,” Enjolras said truthfully, frowning. Grantaire's cheeks were strangely flushed - other than from alcohol or after laughing out loud at his own jokes for hours. “Combeferre,” the blond said suddenly, turning to his friend, who looked up from the notes he had been taking all along. He didn't have to say anything else. His best friend understood. He smiled, rose from his seat, and replaced Enjolras in a tax monologue.

The blond walked over to the table where Grantaire sat with Joly and Bossuet. Before he could say anything, Joly pulled out his best dog eyes and began to defend his friend, “Enjolras, he really didn't want to disturb you. Look at him,” he growled, running his hand through Grantaire's thick black hair, which stuck strangely.

“I'm watching,” Enjolras said. And it was true. As soon as he entered the room, he knew something was wrong. Each time Grantaire opened the door, he was the first to find Enjolras with his eyes, he smiled sensually at him, the fires burning in his eyes that stretched his pupils until his eyes were almost as black as his hair; and he muttered something inaudible between his teeth. Then he greeted everyone in the room, and only after the first bottle of wine had he finished had he been able to look at the blonde again. And he didn't take his eyes off him until the very end.

Not that Enjolras noticed something like that.

Enjolras sat across from Grantaire, who looked at him confused. He blinked a few times, causing his eyes to fill with tears. He had never seen them in his eyes. They scared him. He didn't like them. “That's why I'm a little bit…” Worried? Nervous? Frightened? Enjolras couldn’t, and perhaps didn’t want to, name the feeling that had settled on his chest and made his heart pound uncomfortably. “Are you all right?” He finally repeated his question.

Grantaire, soaked not only with wine and good jokes, but also with a good dose of sarcasm, irony and cynicism; bit his tongue this time, and before he could say any nonsense, he just took a deep breath, causing another rush of cough. Joly stroked his back carefully, hoping to help him a little. Bossuet looked at his empty glass of hot wine and immediately got up to order another. Or rather some herbal tea. Enjolras frowned even more and tapped his foot nervously.

When the brunette stopped coughing, he breathed a sigh of relief. “W-well, probably not much,” he admitted.

“Are you sick?” Enjolras asked cautiously.

Grantaire was about to roll his eyes and say  _ No shit Sherlock, _ but only with the faint movement of his eyelids stabbed him in his temples and he grinned painfully. “A little.”

“It just looks like a cold, nothing serious. If he goes home as soon as possible!”

“You said it was nothing serious,” Enjolras said.

“Yes. If you catch it right at the beginning, then no. You lie in bed, eat a lot of food rich in vitamins, drink tea. But if you stumble through the streets of Paris at minus six, with a low fever and clothes that don't heat up that much again? So someone is begging for a nice pneumonia!”

“You're dramatizing it,” Grantaire said before sneezing.

He sneezed cutely, Enjolras remarked in his head, shaking immediately to dispel such thoughts as soon as possible. “Come on. I will accompany you home.”

Grantaire looked at Enjolras, who was already rising, reaching for the hanger on which he wore his bright, red coat. “N-no, Apollo, that's okay. Stay here. I'll get h-home by myself.”

“Joly—” He looked with his eyes at one of the youngest members of their group. “-will he make it?”

“Certainly not. It can get worse somewhere along the way and he can collapse. And you know what people are like! They don’t care about some rolling bodies on the streets! They'll think he's a drunk homeless man, and when he wakes up, the snow will definitely fall behind his jacket a long time ago, which will warm up on his chest and cool down even more, and then—”

“I'll take care of him,” Enjolras interrupted Joly's monologue and helped Grantaire get to his feet. Joly took several deep breaths and nodded. He was already replaying in his head all the tragic scenarios that had just occurred to him. “You don't have to worry,” the blond assured him just before they both left Café Musain.

Joly was right. It was minus six degrees outside, there was freshly fallen snow on the ground, from which the children would soon be able to build snowmen, almost no one was outside. There were more cars in the parking lot than was customary in Paris at any other time. They both walked over to one of them, which was as red as Enjolras's coat. Enjolras unlocked it and opened the passenger door to Grantaire. “Um, Enjolras?” Grantaire asked in disbelief as he looked at the empty space in front of him. Enjolras looked at him and blinked to indicate that he was listening. “But I live around the corner.” The brunette pointed to a long street with several stone houses that mostly served as housing units for six families.

“I know.”

“So why-”

“I heard you say yesterday that the owner of your house decided not to turn on the heating until mid-December, even though he promised you half a year ago that he would turn on the heating a little earlier. But he doesn't care because he's on holiday… in Malaysia?”

“In the Maldives,” Grantaire corrected, digging his nose into the purple scarf so that Enjolras wouldn’t notice his smile. Little did he know that the blond was listening to him. He never actually admitted that after the meeting, Enjolras would be in no way active in caring about what his friends were doing. Although Courfeyrac and even Joly had told him several times that Enjolras was friendlier than he thought; yet he never admitted that he was interested in him.

“I believe you got cold and got sick in those few nights, didn't you?” Grantaire just nodded. “Obviously, I can't let you go to a house like that. Surely it would turn out the way Joly said. I'll take you to me. I have a free room there. And my heating works.”

Grantaire stepped in without further ado. Before leaving the parking lot, he turned on the top heater until Grantaire shuddered and exhaled contentedly as the hot air stroked his cheek.

The journey to Enjolras was shorter than he remembered. He had been at his apartment several times, mostly with friends, as part of a party where they tried to get to know each other a little better, but most of the time their conversations ended on politics and law topics anyway. Enjolras lived at the very end of the twentieth precinct, in a large apartment complex that looked expensive at first glance.

They got out of the car together, Enjolras unlocked the door on a chip, and came to the end of the hall to the elevators. They drove to the sixth floor. From the elevator, they reached a small hall, where Enjolras entered a numeric code and imprinted his fingerprint. They waited a moment until the metal door clicked and Enjolras entered. Grantaire followed slowly.

Like all the tenants in the house, Enjolras owned an entire floor. The huge, airy, open space immediately led him into the living-dining room, which was decorated in white, gray, and black. Only in some places was the furniture supplemented with light wood. Instead of a balcony, he had a whole wall of glass, from which he could see the whole street and several houses before that. He was sure that if he took the binoculars, he would certainly see the tip of the Eiffel Tower in the distance. Around the corner was a spacious kitchen that still led to a small pantry. There were three doors on the other side - one leading to the bathroom, the other to the bedroom, and the last to the study. But after a few months, he converted it into a guest room. He worked the same wherever he could, preferably in the living room or in his bedroom, that a separate study was useless to him. Their friends have used this room several times.

Each time Grantaire entered, he stood in the hallway in astonishment. It was no different today. He looked dreamily all over the room, while Enjolras hurried quickly, hanging his coat on a hanger next to the mirror he had next to his shoebox. Enjolras's question tore him from contemplation: “Do you want to take a shower before eating?”

“Um, yeah. Yeah. Certainly. Thanks.”

“Do you want help or—”

“I can do it!” Grantaire shouted a little louder than he intended, and Enjolras winced a little. He didn't expect Grantaire to be as loud as ever, even with a sore throat and difficulty in his lungs.

“Second from the right. I'll make you tea in the meantime.”

It was the same as it had been when he had been here for the first time, and he was so drunk that he had become acquainted with the toilet bowl by the morning hours. He smiled at the memory of a not-so-successful evening — when Combeferre was stroking his back, washing his mouth and forehead, and occasionally singing something to make him feel a little better —. He took off his coat, both sweaters, his long-sleeved T-shirt, his pants, and his underpants from his grandmother, who had knitted them for him years ago, and he refused to put them on. Until now, when he was pleasantly warmed, perhaps even more than the top of his clothes. He removed three pairs of socks from his feet and walked over to the bathtub, which also served as a shower. He pulled back the dark curtain, landed on the cold porcelain, and let out the hot water, under which he just moaned happily. The steam stretched through his cavities, and he was finally able to breathe hard in the last few days. In addition to heating, the owner also gave them a supply of hot water, which, throughout the day, simply wasn’t enough. Grantaire, too tired or just too lazy to heat water in a pot to pour into the tub with the cold, simply showered in the freezing shower in the evenings. 

When the water reached his knees, he turned it off. He rested his head on the edge and stared at the ceiling, which had several LEDs that illuminated the room pleasantly at night, not looking as sharp as light bulbs. Grantaire began to count them in his mind, then imagined them as stars, constellations — and with the thought of Orion his eyelids strangely heavier, and after a while he fell asleep.

He awoke just before dipping his chin under water. He winced and looked around the room. The tiles weren't dripping with water drops yet, the water in the tub was still hot. He could only sleep for a minute, maybe two. Even so, he felt it was dangerous, especially in this state. He washed quickly — dreamily looking at the exposed collection of shower gels in all the different citrus scents — and stepped out of the tub. As he pulled back the curtain so he could reach for a towel, he noticed that Enjolras's things were lying on the toilet board. He had to enter the bathroom just as the brunette fell asleep. He was suddenly glad that he had decided to pull the curtains. The thought of Enjolras seeing him naked—

Grantaire shook his head. “As if he cared,” he said to himself as he dried himself and dressed quickly. Enjolras was only inches taller than he was, but he still felt as if he were stretching things on himself from Bahorel, who was a good two and a half heads taller and thirty inches wider. His red long-sleeved T-shirt was almost to his buttocks, his gray pants were long, his warm white socks below his knees, and the sleeves of a green sweatshirt — he had never seen anything green in his life on Enjolras — were in the middle of his palms. When he looked in the mirror, he felt like a younger brother trying on the older one's things.

Still, he couldn't help smiling. Enjolras's things clung pleasantly to him and imprinted Enjolras's scent on his skin. They smelled like he did — oranges, lemon, and mint. Grantaire smelled of his shoulder, which was covered in a green hoodie. He inhaled heavily and exhaled contentedly. Yes.  _ Enjolras _ .

He came out of the bathroom and was immediately struck in the nose by the pleasant smell of herbal tea. When he reached the living room, Enjolras knelt with his back to a table on which smoked mugs were placed, along with plates full of fruit and baguettes; and snuggled a few old newspapers, which he threw into the fireplace. When Grantaire noticed, he looked at him, his eyes wandering from his head to toes - Grantaire would have sworn on the spot that he had blushed slightly! - and returned to his work. “Do you feel better?”

“I'm not so cold at last,” Grantaire admitted, moving closer to Enjolras. “Isn't it warm enough?” He asked toward the fireplace, where Enjolras had just thrown a lighted, long match. It immediately grabbed the paper in clutches and began to heat the carefully chopped and bare logs with it, which should ignite at any moment.

“This is better,” Enjolras said as he placed the matches on the table next to the teas and tapped on the place next to him. “Sit down.” His tone was harsh, as it was when he spoke to people at a demonstration. Grantaire didn't like to admit that the voice was doing  _ something  _ to him that he could never refuse. He sat down on the hairy, soft, white carpet in front of the fireplace, from which heat slowly began to radiate. Enjolras reached for the chest next to the sofa, opened it, and pulled out one blanket. Without warning, he reached out to Grantaire and wrapped him in it. “Good?”

“G-good,” Grantaire said, feeling his tongue tangled and clearing his throat weakly.

Enjolras, who thought he was coughing for a cold, turned to the table this time and picked up a cup. He handed it to Grantaire and the brunette accepted him softly. He drank and grinned. “Mint tea with honey and pieces of ginger. It's a little sharper, but it will help you.”

“To throw up?” Grantaire asked in disgust.

“My grandmother made it for me. It's the best medicine,” Enjolras didn't let himself be beaten and reached for another cup, but this time he drank from it.

“It doesn't look like what I have.”

“Coffee.”

“It’s not fair! I want one too!”

“I'll be happy to make you coffee when you're healthy.”

The sincerity in his voice startled Grantaire a little. He expected a poisonous remark or a snort, but Enjolras treated him so friendly, openly, and almost kindly that it made him nervous. That's what Enjolras always treated him like, but he never perceived it? Or was there a change he didn't notice? What was going on?

Instead of asking him, he drank from his cup. He cleared his throat in disgust and grunted. Enjolras didn’t comment on his cough this time. “If you're hungry, take anything you want.”

“Maybe later.” Enjolras just nodded. They both quietly watched the fire in the fireplace. The sight reassured them. The warmth that surrounded them made them comfortable. The sound of crackling wood filled the silence in the room, which suddenly seemed a little cozier. The orange light of the fire gave both of them a sense of calm. “Enjolras,” the brunette broke the silence between them. Enjolras looked at Grantaire, who still wasn’t taking his eyes off the fire. His cheeks were warm, a little -  _ cutely _ \- pink, from sickness, and maybe something Enjolras wasn't trying to name. “Thank you,” he whispered so softly that if Enjolras hadn't sat next to him, he would have overheard him.

Enjolras smiled, turned to the fireplace again, and replied, “Anytime.”


	3. Hot drink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's part underwent a slight adjustment, because I got to writing quite late and I wasn't even at my best, and I feel that today's writing does not reach the quality I would like. :) Even so, I hope you will like this part and I will try to write more next day!

"Well, that's all from me," Grantaire said, hiding all the drawings back in his backpack. Enjolras just nodded and got up from the couch. When the man went to the next room, where he had a kitchen, the brunette just shook his head and smiled. Everyone had a bad trait, something to work on or get rid of. If anyone asked about Grantaire’s, they would all start with his drinking, joking, and cynicism. Their lists would be long, and perhaps Grantaire himself would have no idea what people had noticed in him over the years as bad. He wouldn't be surprised, and he wouldn't even blame them. He would certainly add a few points himself. But Enjolras? Everyone talked about him in superlatives. Only Combeferre, with whom he had known for nearly ten years, sometimes indicated that he didn't like how big a workaholic his friend was. And Courfeyrac, who loved to be the center of attention in all cases, would certainly note again how quiet and closed he was. And Grantaire was strangely pleased that he could add other qualities to him -  _ impatience _ . The blond may have defended his passion for work that has benefited everyone, especially their revolutionary group; or an introverted nature that his friend born with the personality of thirty different people could never understand; but impatience? It couldn’t be logically explained. It was just  _ bad _ . And Grantaire loved to embarrass him by it - he always ran his eyes around the room, looking for the right words to defend himself, and the tips of his ears were cute.

And that's why he was sitting here. Because of his impatience. One week ago, he had promised to help him write a new slogan for posters they could post at the University of Paris School of Law - Grantaire still couldn't believe how Enjolras had achieved it, but blamed his charisma, for which the entire academic senate had a weakness. He noticed that he had been looking at him throughout the meeting yesterday, and even after they had finished, he sat closer to the table they had occupied with Joly and Bossuet; and so, when Enjolras send him message this morning about if he could stop by in the evening, he had long ago had posters with slogans folded in a backpack. Enjolras was surprised to have them so soon, but from his expression, which was hidden under a stone face, under which Grantaire could easily see now, he knew he liked them.

He wanted to get up from the couch, walk to the door, put on his shoes, and finally leave. It was almost nine o'clock in the evening. It started to snow heavily and was definitely not expected to improve. He had lived almost at the other side of Paris from Enjolras, and he didn't want to risk the traffic collapsing because of the snow and he had to stumble home on foot. However, he was interrupted by Enjolras, who returned to the room, held two cups and stood directly in front of Grantaire. "Would you like some?" He asked, and one of the hippo-shaped cups — Grantaire didn't know if he wanted to ask why he had bought them, or if he was trying to suggest something discreetly — pushed him discreetly.

"I should go now. It doesn't look good outside," he laughed.

As soon as he lifted his back from the couch, Enjolras asked him again, "Don't you want to watch a movie?"

"Um, I really should—"

"Or play something." Enjolras's tone sounded monotonous, Grantaire once thought was  _ boring _ , but after years of knowing him, he realized that he had to pay attention to the volume and light intonation he put into his sentences. He knew that Enjolras, although it may not have seemed so at first glance, was really interested in him and wanted to…

Grantaire blinked in confusion.  _ He wanted to spend the evening with him _ . "Um…" The brunette had no idea what to say. Enjolras's attention was still foreign to him. Although in those five years they had finally found their way to each other, though it was difficult, long, and stopped a few times on the spot; but they still didn’t spend enough time alone in solitude to be able to say that they were true friends.

"Have some," the blond said to Grantare, drinking from his cup. The brunette listened to him. He sniffed lightly before drinking. It smelled familiar with alcohol and cinnamon. As soon as he drank a few drops, his pupils widened comically, he took a deep breath, and drank almost half of the cup for another gulp. It was then scratching his throat - the drink was still quite hot - but he moaned contentedly.

"So tasty!" Enjolras grunted in agreement. "Did you do that?" Enjlolras made another approving sound again. "Where did you learn to make mulled wine?"

"From Grandma. When I was a little boy, she secretly gave me a drink at Christmas. Along with egg liqueur."

"Oh, oh, you never boasted about your drunk history," the brunette laughed as he drank again. This time, with goosebump added to his body, thanks to the delicious taste. He shivered and growled contentedly. "I always drank the mulled wine at Christmas markets. But now, with the chaos out there…” He did not finish. He wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone about it. The last year has been as difficult for him as it has been for others. But he was most sorry as the spark escaped from the eyes of his family and friends. Everything was always saved by his jokes, fictional stories and sometimes quite inappropriate behavior, which always made everyone laugh; but now nothing worked. There was no room to behave like this. And Grantaire felt lost.

But now that he could taste the sweet, hot wine with a little cinnamon and mint, he felt normal again, at least for a while. As if the whole world didn't go crazy.

His silence made Enjolras a little nervous. He saw the brunette staring at the surface of the hot drink, as if trying to find answers he couldn't hear. "The movie...?" He asked quietly and carefully, so as not to frighten Grantair in his thoughts.

"Sure, I'd love to," the brunette said, smiling.

Enjolras moved closer to Grantaire. He noticed that his mug was almost empty. "I will make you another one," he said as he took the cup from his hand and left again for a moment. When he returned to the living room, he placed a plate with small cakes on the table in addition to a cup.

"Awesome!" Grantaire shouted excitedly, reaching for one of the candies. "Lemon cakes!" He bit into one of the cakes contentedly and groaned blissfully. Enjolras, meanwhile, turned on the light next to the sofa and turned off the large light. It was a pleasant twilight in the room. The blond reached for the remote, and while Grantaire was chewing on his second cake — he knew he would have to come for another at any moment if Grantaire kept up the same pace — he threw one of his warm blankets over his legs. The brunette looked into his lap, which was covered with a brown blanket with embroidered flowers. "T-thank you," he said in disbelief, folding his legs under him and pulling the blanket up to his shoulders so he could lie down.

"It's okay," Enjolras said before turning on the film.

Grantaire smiled from ear to ear as the opening jingle sounded from the TV. "Home alone! I love that movie!”

"I've never seen it," the blond admitted dispassionately.

Grantaire looked at Enjolras and rolled his eyes. "Say you're kidding." Enjolras shook his head to indicate that he meant it. "Courfeyrac warned me that you were totally useless in culture, but that you didn't know a classic like Home Alone? Well, it's really bad already. Relax well, Mr. Leader, because you will never forget this ride."

"If you say so," said Enjolras, shrugging, almost as if he didn't care. Still, he obeyed the brunette, pulled out another blanket to cover himself, and slowly drank from his cup. Only a few minutes passed, and Enjolras felt his eyelids heavy. Hot drinks and alcohol put him to sleep. And united in one? It was almost like a lullaby to him. Without realizing it, he closed his eyes and fell asleep for a moment.

In the middle of the film, when Grantaire was laughing at almost every scene and his eyes blazed with happiness, he turned to Enjolras and asked, "Can you pause it for a moment? I need to go to the toilet.” He immediately laughed again, but this time the film wasn't to blame. Enjolras had his head folded on the backrest, twisted into a ball, still holding an unfinished mug of mulled wine in one hand, which he had fortunately not spilled on the white carpet, and was breathing contentedly. Grantaire placed the cake and cup on the table, picked up the remote, paused the film, and rose. He wondered for a moment if he should put Enjolras better — he knew he'd be running around the apartment with his neck locked all morning like that — but the thought of having to touch the younger man's trembling knees. No, he wasn't ready for that yet. At times, he felt like a teenager giving the first kiss to the boy he was in love with. "Bad memories, bad memories," he began to whisper to himself as he picked up Enjolras's mug, placed it next to his, and went quietly to the bathroom.

When he returned to the living room, Enjolras solved his dilemma - to touch or not to touch? - by himself. He probably felt from sleep that no one was occupying him in his spacious seat, and he swung his legs over where Grantaire had just sat. The blanket covered his whole body to his neck. His hands were folded under his head and his mouth was slightly ajar. Grantaire stared at him for several long minutes, as if trying to etch the look in his memory.

After a while, he picked up his cup and went to the kitchen. He drank faster than he intended. He tried to say that it was certainly just a small cup the blond gave him. A large pot with a lid was placed on the plate, in which Enjolras prepared the wine. It was still lukewarm. With a ladle, Grantaire filled the cup to the brim. "Damn," he muttered when he noticed that a few drops had landed on a line on which, in addition to a few pieces of dishes, lay white, folded paper. Grantaire would normally have left him in his place, respecting the privacy of his friends, but out of the corner of his eye he saw his name on a piece of paper. And curiosity was stronger than he was.

When Enjolras woke up, Grantaire was no longer in the apartment. The watch on his hand told him it was only seven o'clock in the morning. The sun hadn’t yet risen properly, and it had snowed outside even more than the night before. He sat up and opened his mouth to call Grantaire — maybe he was just in the bathroom — when he noticed that there was a piece of paper on the table in front of him that he had left in the kitchen. His heart pounded. He reached for the piece of paper and opened it. But before his heart could jump out of his chest, he calmed down. His eyes were the first to find two words that were certainly not written by his hand. "Thank you," Enjolras read aloud, touching the word as if he had just heard it from Grantaire's mouth.

When they met two days ago at a meeting of  _ Les Ámis _ which, after a few long months, they could finally hold again in their beloved Musain café instead of just a video chat, everyone was excited. They discussed only the most basic items of their program and then divided into groups to finally talk live about what was happening in their lives. They sat in the cafe for several long hours.

However, Enjolras noticed that Grantaire, otherwise noisy and cheerful, was strangely calm and rather listening. It scared him. It was a change he didn't like. But he didn't know how to ask the brunette about it. He was afraid he would insult him. However, his nervousness was shared by Joly and Bossuet, who decided to talk to Grantaire between the six eyes. Enjolras knew he shouldn't have listened to them, but he couldn't help himself. He wanted to know what was happening to the brunette.

And everything had a simple explanation. Due to government regulations, it was certain that Grantaire wouldn’t look outside France this year. And a few years ago, his family decided to move to a sick grandmother who lived in her homeland in the south of Italy. Grantaire was to celebrate Christmas and all the holidays until the New Year alone. He tried to be positive, making fun of it and swapping out a few jokes that made everyone at the table laugh, but Enjlolras felt it really bothered him.

So he picked up a pencil, a piece of paper, and listened intently. He made a note of all the important things he had heard in the interview. Grantaire, who always liked to talk, asked Joly's question -  _ And how did you actually celebrate Christmas? _ \- he spoke so much that Enjolras could barely take all the notes. He shortened the points to the minimum necessary to understand them and memorize everything. He painted squares in front of each point, which he ticked off after completing it.

_ Invite Grantaire to your apartment _ . Done.

_ Boil Grantaire mulled wine. Note: Find a recipe on the internet for how mulled wine is made. _ Done.

_ Buy lemon cakes from Madame Lafayette _ . Done.

_ Download the movie "Home Alone" _ . Done.

Other points -  _ download the sequel to the film "Home Alone"; borrow the board game Carcassonne from Jehan; buy pizza ingredients. Note: Grantaire's favorite ingredients are bacon, spinach and boiled chicken; prepare pizza together; buy beer for pizza; play the game Truth or Lie; download christmas movie. Note: Grantaire didn’t say name of the movie, get advice from Joly or Bossuet; buy a poinsettia at the flower shop and give it to Grantaire before leaving  _ \- they were no longer checked. Under normal circumstances, he would have slapped himself - how could he fall asleep and let all his effort and preparation be wasted? However, the word written next to the last point saved Grantaire as fulfilled saved him from blaming himself, and Enjolras had a smile on his face.

_ Make Grantaire happy. _


	4. Ice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I promised, I did! :) Today a longer story with a better theme and a slightly satisfied author. I was looking forward to this topic the most, maybe because I miss skating ... :)

Grantaire got on the bus when he received a message from Joly. As he read it, his heart pounded with nervousness. The patting of his feet made the old woman opposite him nervous, who looked at him indifferently at any moment, rolled her eyes, and returned to her unread novel. Grantaire hid his cell phone in his pocket and looked out the window.

Paris was covered with soft snow, the sky was gray, and outside there was an unpleasant ten degrees below zero. It had been snowing heavily for the last four days, children were happy to build snowmen, teenagers were throwing snowballs at each other, and young couples were lovingly walking through the snow, mugs of mulled wine in their hands. Although Grantaire didn’t love winter and would have done without a white blanket of snow, he knew very well that the snow and the approaching Christmas were an attraction to meet. With Bahorel, they considered December their own "hunting season", when they enjoyed the most love affairs and new experiences, which they then talked about until the end of the summer of next year.

This year was no different. Yesterday, Grantaire finally decided to buy a Christmas present for his younger sister. Although it was still uncertain whether he would see him at the dinner at all - Grantaire had moved out of the house more than seven years ago, he was not yet of legal age, and he had seen his family for a minimum - he wouldn’t forgive himself for at least sending her something. He was walking through a bookstore trying to choose the best title for a young, teenage girl when he noticed a handsome girl putting books on a bookshelf with a tag around her neck. Blond, tall, thin, red lips. In a moment, she noticed his examined eyes, and when their eyes met, she smiled fondly at him. They stared at each other quietly for a moment until Grantaire lifted the two titles over his head and asked, "Would you help me which one to buy?" So, fifteen minutes later and one book heavier, Grantaire went home with a phone number in his pocket. They had already messaged each other in the evening and decided to meet again at the weekend. Grantaire let her choose a program, and since he had a rule that he never said "no" to the first five dates, he agreed to go ice skating together.

The problem was that Grantaire didn’t know how to skate. He didn't even know if he ever put his skates on his feet. He didn't remember any photographs that revealed that he had ever done such a thing. So shortly after he and the girl finished texting, he immediately contacted Joly - the only friend he knew he liked to play sports - if he would help him with that. "Look, you won't believe it, but I know someone who used to skate! Should I make an appointment with him?” Of course, Grantaire didn't refuse.

Still, he was strangely nervous. The idea that he would even sprawl like a frog in front of someone who had once even danced on the ice and won prizes wasn’t the most appealing to him. That's why he was pleased when Joly wrote to him that they would meet in a park, on a frozen lake in the 12th district. This ensured that they would not have to be surrounded by a few curious people who would laugh at his every futile attempt.

Grantaire was there in half an hour. He grunted uncomfortably as he got off the bus. Although it was no longer snowing, there was no strong wind, but the cold was still biting into the skin like a parasite that couldn’t be removed. He buried his nose in his leather black jacket — he didn't own anything like a "coat," and he believed his clothes should look good rather than functional, so, like Courfeyrac, "he'd rather freeze than be ugly dressed ”— and headed for the park. He met almost no one along the way. Most people were at work or staying warm in their homes. If he weren't frightened by the thought of embarrassment in front of the girl, he'd rather lie down on the couch in his apartment now and watch the next part of the sitcom.

From a distance he saw a frozen lake with a small dusting of snow. Far from the shore, where he was to meet Joly's friend, a pair of people were skating, rather sliding on the ice, and it looked as if they were walking. So it was certain that they would have no unnecessary company around them.

From a distance he noticed a bright red coat. Its owner was sitting on a bench by the shore, looking absently in front of him. Grantaire's eyes narrowed. He was sure he saw a pair of blond strands of hair under his black hat. The man pulled his hands out of his pockets — both in black, elegant gloves — and looked at his watch. Gold, shining, with a red stone above the number 12. He would know this watch everywhere. This belonged to— "Don’t tell!"

He was louder than he intended. The young man turned, and as soon as their eyes met, the blond sighed loudly and greeted him, "Grantaire."

"Well, it just seems to me, I'll just run into you everywhere, and it's said that Paris is big," Grantaire laughed as he walked over to Enjolras and looked him in the eye. "Greetings,  _ leader _ , did you come to get some Christmas atmosphere? How come you're not in school? ”

Enjolras frowned. "I haven't been to school in three weeks. I managed everything in advance. I have the impression that I already talked about it at the meeting."

"I probably didn't listen to you," Grantaire admitted, scratching his hair nervously. "You know that when you're walking around in those tight jeans—"

"You're late," Enjolras interrupted. He wasn’t in the mood to listen to his monologues about his beautiful figure. He never liked them. In fact, he had no idea why. Perhaps because anything about his "beautiful face" - as his physical education teacher at primary school very often and gladly addressed him - annoyed him and gave the impression that people didn’t take him seriously. He wasn’t accustomed to receiving praise for his character, which made him nervous, but remarks about his beauty made him mad.

"How late?" Grantaire asked, confused. Enjolras stood up and sighed again. He shook his head and took two steps forward. He stepped on the ice. But instead of slipping and falling on his - according to Grantaire's exhibition - background, he gracefully took a step forward and slid a few inches forward. He turned and put his hands back in his pockets. It was only now that Grantaire thought of a descent from Enjolras's face a little lower, to his feet. Enjolras wore ice skates - black, polished, the laces certainly worn to the eye, but bound with precision and care, as if he had done it several times before.

For several times… Grantaire rolled his eyes. "Is that you?!" he shouted, pointing to his friend. Enjolras just nodded. "Did you skate?!" he asked in surprise. Enjolras nodded again. "How come I don't know?" He asked in surprise, sitting down on the bench where his blond friend had just sat. He pulled skates from his backpack, which he borrowed from the ice stadium.

"I never needed to talk about it," he said truthfully, taking two tempos forward, then back again to be right in front of Grantaire. "Joly only knows this because he and Feuilly helped me move to a new apartment four years ago. He unpacked old albums that I received from my mother and found some photos from trainings and competitions. I had no reason to keep it a secret."

"Why he didn't tell me," Grantaire thought aloud as he kicked his leather boots under the bench and began putting on his ice skates. They were heavy and a little uncomfortable. "Have you skated for a long time?"

"Only four years. It was very time consuming, so my father signed me up for ballet at the age of seven."

"That’s really masculine," the brunette laughed as he tried to tie the laces on his right skate.

"It was a preparation for classical dance classes."

"Did you dance? God, what's happening today.” When Enjolras didn’t comment on his remark, he asked again,“ How long have you been dancing?”

"By fourteen. When I had to go to high school, my parents let me choose whether I wanted to stay with the dance or choose another hobby, or do nothing. They knew high school was going to be challenging, so I had a choice. I decided to quit and started going to the brigades to understand how difficult it is to make money and manage it."

Grantaire ignored the last remark about the money and laughed, "You're ended because you were losing, aren't you?"

"No," Enjolras said seriously, frowning incomprehensibly. "I'm a master of junior dance."

Grantaire stopped tying his shoelaces and looked at Enjolras. "...You're kidding."

"You can check it on the Internet if you want."

"You're right to check it out!" He immediately searched his pocket and pulled out a phone.

“Le Rose Dance Studio. Galleries and dance prizes ten to fifteen years ago."

While Grantaire quickly typed information into the search engine, Enjolras took several tempos back and forth. His skates still fit him. He liked to go ice skating every winter, not in public places like ice stadiums, but just like that, somewhere in a park, in a frozen area. He regretted that it wasn’t so cold last year and there was no snow. He had to skate. He made up for it with roller skates in the summer, but that wasn't it. He loved the snow, the ice, and the sense of freedom he felt when the blade sank into the ice and could drive fast.

"...Fuck," Grantaire whispered in surprise, his eyes widening comically. "You had long hair," he laughed as he looked at Enjolras again.

"Can we start now?" The blond asked impatiently.

"Sure, sure," Grantaire replied quickly, tucking his cell phone back in his pocket. He quickly tied the laces on the other skate and stood up. He staggered immediately. If Enjolras hadn’t reached the edge of the pond and had not grabbed Grantair by the elbow with his hand, he would have fallen. "Thanks."

"Be careful," Enjolras said in his monotone voice, but Grantaire heard his typical concern in him. This is how he usually spoke to Courfeyrac, who was constantly attacked by something stupid he could simply hurt himself. "When was the last time you skated?" The brunette asked as he led him safely to the ice. They were just a short distance from shore.

"Um, never," he admitted.

Enjolras blinked and frowned. "But Joly said you had a date—"

"I have a rule not to say  _ no  _ to girls until a fifth date. Then I also hope they won't tell me  _ no _ . If you know what I mean,” he laughed, raising an eyebrow comically.

It was too clear to Enjolras. And he didn't want to hear about it. "Do you skate on roller skates?"

"In the summer you have to vibe, not sweat like a pig doing some stupid sport."

"So no," Enjolras said, sighing. "This will be difficult. I don't know if you'll learn it in a day. "

"Don't underestimate me, Apollo."

"Don't call me that," Enjolras said angrily. Only now did he notice that he was still holding Grantair by the elbow. He released him and wanted to leave when the brunette staggered again. He grabbed him again and looked into his eyes. "Do you even know how to skate?"

"Um…" That was enough for Enjolras to understand. With his other hand, he adjusted his hat on his head and slowly drove a little further from shore so that Grantaire had enough room to do a few tempos. "I'll let you go now, stay a little forward so you don't fall, okay?"

"Clearly."

Enjolras released Grantaire and drove a short distance away. "Look at me skating and try again, okay?" He did a few tempos — slow, graceful — so Grantaire could see the technique Enjolras was using. When he turned to Grantair, he just said, "And now you."

"Okay," Grantaire said, trying to imitate Enjolras. He looked like a doe that was about to get to its feet for the first time. He didn't make a single pace yet and began to twitch from side to side.

"Don't wave your hands like that, otherwise—" Enjolras didn't finish, and Grantaire fell on his ass. "—You will fall," he said softly, blushing at Grantaire. "Good?" He asked as he helped him to his feet.

"Yeah," Grantaire said with a laugh. "But it will be harder than I thought."

"Um," Enjolras growled, grabbing Grantaire by both elbows. "You must have the right attitude first, it won't work without it. So - lean forward, only slightly. Leg spread to shoulder width apart. Correctly. Squat a little. Yes exactly. Bend your knees so that they are in front of the tips of the skates. Yes. Good. That's how it would go.” Enjolras released Grantaire and drove off. "Now try to keep up the pace."

"How?"

"As if you wanted to walk normally," he advised him just before Grantaire listened to him and set the pace forward. He immediately ran into Enjolras, who caught him. "Yes, that's right." Grantaire looked Enjolras in the eye and blushed slightly. He's never been this close to a blonde. Has his skin always been so golden? And eyes so blue with shades of gray? And did it always smell so beautiful after jasmine? "Shall we try again?"

"S-sure," Grantaire cleared his throat, waiting for Enjolras to release him.

With each passing pace, Enjolras was farther and farther away from Grantaire. He always caught him like a good father who was just teaching his son to walk for the first time. Grantaire felt that way. Although he mastered the basic posture after half an hour, he understood that any straightening, buckling, or rinsing of his hands resulted in only one fall. Enjolras always helped him to his feet, knocked some snow out of him, and encouraged him again to keep trying.

After two hours, a few falls, but also a few correct temptations; Grantaire was able to make a small wheel on the lake without Enjolras having to help him. He began to smile, as if he had just sold one of his paintings. "I did it!" The brunette laughed and raised his hands above his head, which resulted in one thing - a fall.

"You did it," the blond complimented him as he helped him to his feet. "Shall we take a break?"

"Please," Grantaire moaned exhausted, letting Enjolras lead to the edge of the lake, where they slowly skated across the frozen grass and landed on a bench. Grantaire tilted his head, closed his eyes, and began to moan. "I didn't know it hurt so much!"

"Everything is challenging if you want to do it right. I believe that painting is also painful."

"Why should it be painful?" Grantaire asked, glancing at Enjolras, who had pulled a thermos with two cups from his backpack. He poured some hot tea into each of them. "Thanks," Grantaire whispered in surprise, taking the cup from him. He drank and sighed with satisfaction. He didn't even realize how cold he was. "Although, you're actually right," the brunette admitted as he drank again. "When I started painting in university, I had tendonitis at all times. I didn't know how to hold the brush properly, and at any moment I blocked my wrist or moved my neck and back. In fact, I suffered a lot in the first year."

"And half a year ago...?"

"Oh," Grantaire laughed, remembering that he had a hand wrapped in a tight bandage for a month. "I had a carpal tunnel. But that was out of my stupidity. I decided to do one big project and I didn't estimate my strength. That's how it took the body."

"That's the way it is," Enjolras said, pulling a box of muffins from his backpack. "Do you want some?"

"I'd love to!" Grantaire shouted happily, squeezing the cup of tea between his thighs and taking two at a time.

"Jehan made them," he said, rather than the brunette start asking him where he came from.

"He send me a message that he was with you yesterday." Enjolras just nodded, but said nothing more. Grantaire studied him for a moment, then just said, "Why did you stop?"

"What do you think?"

"With dancing. And actually with that figure skating."

"I quit figure skating because of my parents. It's a difficult sport, you give your whole life to it. In fact, like any sport you want to do on a professional level. But I never said I wanted to be an athlete. I only went figure skating because my aunt skated and when she was babysitting me, she liked to take me on ice. So I thought that as the first sport I would like to try this. But when my coach started forcing my parents to go to more training sessions, started participating in professional children's competitions and they wanted more and more money, my parents knew it wasn't for me. So I went to ballet for less than half a year before I was taken to a classical dance."

Grantaire laughed. "Why this?"

"I didn't want to do anything very collective. Football, hockey, lacrosse, handball, volleyball. I was a loner since I was a child, and I didn't like the idea that I would have to have fun and participate in something with at least another fifteen children and a few adults. The dance was similar to figure skating, but it wasn’t so financially or time consuming. And the studio where I danced was run by my mother's friend. So I also spent time there with my mother, with whom I met at least due to the busy schedule of both my school and her work. That's why it may have lasted me so long. I enjoyed it, I don't deny it. But it was mainly because I could be with her."

Grantaire noticed Enjolras's face flush slightly as he narrated, his lips curling into a kind smile. A few flames flashed in his eyes, as if he remembered his mother's smile and joy when she saw him accept the prize. "That's very nice," Grantaire said breathlessly.

"Hm. Will you have another one?” He held out a box of pastries to Grantaire.

It was clear to Grantair what Enjolras was all about. He wanted to change the subject quickly. "Not anymore, thanks."

"Back on the ice?"

"Sure,  _ Captain _ ."

"It doesn't work here."

"But we are also on the water. It doesn't matter that she is frozen."

Enjolras just grunted and got up. Grantaire followed, but before he could return to the ice, Enjolras stopped him. Before the brunette could ask what was happening, he felt Enjolras lean over. He tied a white scarf around his neck, which he had hidden in his backpack. "When you go on a date, dress a little better, or you'll freeze," the blond said carefully, stepping onto the ice. Grantaire touched the soft cloth around his neck and inhaled its scent. The scarf smelled just like Enjolras. "Come on, Grantaire."

"I'm coming," Grantaire said breathlessly, stepping on the ice with red cheeks.

It was dark when Grantaire got home. He and Enjolras decided to skate for a few more hours before their stomachs began to churn. Not far from the park was a small fast food stall where they both bought hot dogs with vegetables. Enjolras then escorted Grantaire to the bus stop. All the way, the brunette talked about everything, and his friend listened to him with interest and without interruption. When Grantaire's bus arrived, he wanted to take off the scarf he still had tied around his neck, but Enjolras stopped him, "You'll return it to me when you don't need it." And with that, without further farewell, he left. Grantaire stared at his disappearing figure, almost forgetting to board.

At home, he sat down on the sofa and looked into his lap, where his scarf was folded. His legs and back ached a little, and he knew he would be lounging all day tomorrow. Still smiling. His fingers touched the cotton, which warmed him all the way, and it smelled so beautiful. "I'm stupid, stupid, stupid," he whispered over and over as he picked up his cell phone and found the number of the girl he was talking to.

_ Grantaire: I have bad news. I am sick :/ Do you think we could have our meeting _

_ defer? Maybe until next week? _

The answer came faster than he expected.

_ Eleanor: Okay. :) Get well soon! _

He didn’t continue the conversation. He found Enjolras' number and wrote to him:

_ Grantaire: Thank you very much for today :) _

Everyone knew that Enjolras had his phone stuck to his hand at all times, so he wasn’t surprised by the quick reply.

_ Enjolras: You're welcome. _

_ Grantaire: You know, I don't think I can skate well. Can we meet again? _

_ Enjolras: Sure. When are you free? _

_ Grantaire: Like this Saturday? Same time, same place? _

_ Enjolras: I thought you had a date on Saturday. _

Grantaire bit his lip.

_ Grantaire: Somehow it didn't work out _

_ Enjolras: I'm sorry. _

Grantaire shook his head and smiled. He knew he shouldn't lie. And he had no intention of it. It was clear he would not meet Eleanor again. How could he? After what he experienced with Enjolras today? He had always loved him, and he knew that the way his heart was pounding and his hands were sweating, every time he looked at him, it was a sign of something stronger than friendship. But he tried not to think about it, to deny it, to forget it. Just because he subconsciously knew how his confession would turn out. Enjolras never mentioned that he had partners, that he ever had a relationship, or that he wanted anything at all. He certainly didn't want to risk their friendship in order to fulfill for a few seconds his desire to know how his lips tasted.

But today - how nice, helpful and friendly did he treat him? After seeing him smile at him and praise him? After having fun as friends and after a few years they were alone again, just the two of them, and was it so pleasant that the warmth he felt all over his body warmed him so much that he almost jumped with joy?

He didn't want to forget it. He didn't want to just throw it behind his back. He wanted to be with him. And if it meant forgiving a few meetings with girls or boys, with whom he would always be for a few nights anyway, he was willing to regret it.

_ Grantaire: It doesn't have to! I will have a better program :) _

_ Enjolras: That sounds like a compliment. _

_ Grantaire: It IS compliment!!! _

_ Enjolras: I'm off on Saturday. _

_ Grantaire: In that case we have agreed :) _

_ Enjolras: In that case, I'll count on it. _

_ Grantaire: Great! Thank you once again :) _

_ Enjolras: Good night Grantaire. _

Before Grantaire laid the phone on the table, the sound of an incoming message was still coming out.

_ Enjolras: I will be looking forward to it. _

Grantaire was sure that his happy whistling was heard at the end of the street.


	5. Church

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, it hurt.

Father Mabeuf entered the church with a smile. As he walked down the main hall, one of the sisters noticed him. "Father Mabeuf," she said softly, lowering her eyes and smiling.

Mabeuf, as always, walked over to her, touched her shoulder with his hand, and smiled broadly at her. He had to raise his chin a little higher so he could look her in the eye. "Is he here already?" He asked quietly. The look in her eyes suddenly changed. It was as if pain and tears shone in their reflection. She tried to disguise them with a false smile and just nodded. "How long?"

"Just a moment," she replied.

"Good." He took the backpack off his back and pulled out a two-tone candy. He handed it to the young nun and put his finger before his mouth. "Don't tell anyone," he asked as he handed her the candy and her eyes lit up with joy again.

"Thank you," she whispered, turning and walking to the stairs that led to the first floor, where she was to have an organ lesson in a few minutes. They both knew how strict Sister Elodie was about keeping time.

Mabeuf entered the church through a massive wooden door. It was empty and cold. The steam rose from his mouth and he shook slightly. The district officials promised them half a year ago that they would equip the church with modern heating technology, but they seemed to have forgotten them, as they had last year and the year before. During the Christmas holidays, people appeared in the church that he had usually never seen in his life. Before the end of the year, everyone got a strange desire to confess their suffering and come to at peace in their minds. Mabeuf listened carefully and helped them. He didn't mind the fact that they were mostly unbelievers he had never seen before. He liked to help and was there for people, so almost forty years ago he committed himself to faith as his career. However, the severe winter discouraged everyone from the cold church this year, so he washed stools where no one sat, candlesticks where no candles were lit, or statues that no one admired.

Nevertheless, always a week before Christmas itself, a young man had been going to church for ten years. He always sat in the front row, his hands clasped in a familiar gesture of prayer, and his eyes were closed. He looked like a young man, had soft features on his face, and he didn't seem to have aged in the years he'd seen him once a year. That didn't apply to the man next to him. Every year he had more and more wrinkles on his face, which were caused by laughter and sins. He was cheerful, accommodating, and although he dressed in church very inappropriately, he never said a vulgar word to father. He felt like they were his sons - he knew them so well after a few hours of talking and saw them in their hearts.

However, three years ago, this tradition changed. When he entered the main hall of the church, only the younger of them was waiting for him. His face was stony, his eyes worried and his gaze blank. He was sitting at the end of the bench, looking somewhere in front of him, not praying. Instead of greeting, he looked at Mabeuf and asked him to confess. He had never asked for that before. The initial surprise turned into a sad finding of the truth…

And today, as for the first time three years ago, a blond young man was sitting at the end of a bench, looking at his joined palms, with a gold ring in them. Mabeuf walked over to him, put his hand on his shoulder - his coat was cold, had to sit here for tens of minutes - and squeezed it gently. Enjolras - as the young man's name sounded - just swallowed loudly, got up and tucked the ring in his pocket. "I'm ready," he told him.

Mabeuf just nodded. He walked over to the confessional and took his place. Pulling a dark, black curtain behind him, Enjolras knelt in the small space in front of the one that divided them only through a small window of ornaments. Before the old man could say anything, Enjolras asked, "Is it time for him to take me?"

The coldness in his voice forced Mabeuf to shiver again. He sounded weak and sad. He felt as if he had a child in front of him, whom he would rather take in his arms and soothe. "It's not your time yet," he said as kindly as he could.

"I'm in Christ's age, he should take me."

"That's not how it works, son."

"And why did it work for Grantaire?"

Mabeuf didn't like these questions. He couldn’t answer them so that they were true. "His time has come." He tried to smile to make his voice a little nicer, but he could still feel the pain. Grantaire was perhaps a special person for most people, who loved art so much, loved people so much, loved life so much, loved painting so much, and most importantly, loved Enjolras so much; but there was something he liked about him. His passion, which he put into everything he did - even from his own walk - was carried as if he had never been bothered by anything in this world. Although, after years, he knew that it was all just his defense mechanism to survive with his own thoughts and demons; he believed him and tried to support him in what he had dreamed of and forgave him for everything he had repented of.

It was harder with Enjolras. He always knew what was bothering him, but the blond never needed to confide in anyone. This led to several, sometimes completely unnecessary, quarrels between him and Grantaire. The brunette went to church every month, so he knew more about their relationship than was healthy. Yet, as the church, religion, and the Bible approached their love, he could never condemn them. He knew that what they were experiencing was real. Their love was the strongest he had ever known.

But health wasn’t asked for anything like - dreams, love, the future. It was here once, and the moment it broke, it never returned in full force. As he began to notice that Grantaire's skin had faded, it turned yellow over time, his breathing became more sour and his eyes sunken, it occurred to him too late that something was wrong. It wasn't until Enjolras appeared in the doorway instead of Grantaire and asked him if he could confess to him that he understood. Enjolras never spoke of himself, of his good deeds, of his sins. He didn’t talk about the family or the future. He talked only about Grantaire, love, and how much he meant to him. How much he didn't want to lose him. Enjolras served Mabeuf the rawness of his fear, which terrified Mabeuf, and occasionally woke up with sweaty forehead whenever he dreamed of Enjolras's pale face covered in tears.

"It's my fault," Enjolras whispered. "I should have done more." He uttered these sentences, as he had for the third year in a row.

And, as he had been for three years, Mabeuf countered, "You couldn't do more."

And this time he knew it was true. Grantaire, who made no secret of how big a drunk he was, always joked that one day he would die of a hardened liver or a heart attack. Every doctor has always wondered how someone who lived such a bad lifestyle was actually healthier than any athlete. Even the alcohol, which was almost flowing in his veins instead of blood, wasn’t a sufficient warning to his body, and the doctors almost shook their heads at his perfect results.

But four years ago, it was over. It started inconspicuously, which is always the worst scarecrow. Diseases that don’t hurt are usually the most insidious. By the time Grantaire began to feel pain in his back, it was too late. In the pain that made him lie down and twist in all directions, he was able to call Enjolras, who immediately called an ambulance and drove to the nearest hospital from their apartment, where Grantaire had been taken. The result was more than clear - Grantaire's kidneys aren't functioning. He was immediately transferred to the intensive care unit, where he was first connected to dialysis. He spent several weeks in the hospital, and although he laughed and joked, he said something about the fact that he was finally calm in the hospital and that no one —  _ Enjolras  _ — was beating or kicking him in his sleep; yet there was fear in his voice.

The only solution was simple - Grantaire needed at least one healthy kidney. Enjolras, charged with love and the belief that it was his mission to save his beloved, offered his kidney. After several debilitating medical examinations, doctors confirmed that his kidney could be used. "Are you sure of that, Mr. Enjolras? It is a very demanding procedure. It will affect your life forever.” But Enjolras did not want to back down. He was determined the moment he knew she could save him.

As Grantaire lay in the operating room waiting for him to sleep, Enjolras was transferred to the bed next to him. When they looked at each other with blue eyes, they didn't have to say anything. Grantaire understood. Tears welled in his eyes, and before the nurse placed the gas mask on his mouth and fell asleep, he felt Enjolras's hand and squeezed it tightly. The doctors parted their palms until they both fell asleep and the operation began.

Everything was fine for a while. Enjolras was soon released from the hospital, learned to use a new diet and a certificate of his good deeds, hung over the bed. It was Grantaire's wish, he said, "We really are one body now!" He laughed, and Enjolras always had to kiss him to drive away Grantaire's unique desire to fulfill unfulfillable wishes.

However, Grantaire's condition worsened after a few weeks. Grantaire’s body stopped receiving Enjolras's kidney. He fought her by all available means and tried to drive her out of his body. Unbeatable pain, vomiting, bleeding, and sighs full of pleas  _ to make it stop _ , forced them to visit the hospital again. It was as if his kidneys were signaling to his body that it was time to slowly stop working, and with each passing month Grantaire was diagnosed with another diagnosis.

When Enjolras reached his room on December 1, he knew it would be the last time. They both knew it. Grantaire - exhausted, pale, attached to all sorts of devices - he smiled broadly at him, opened his arms, and placed Enjolras's head on his chest. Enjolras listened intently until he heard his heartbeat. For a moment he only hoped he was deaf. But he knew it was a lie. The whistling of the device above their heads, which controlled Grantaire's heartbeat, proved to him what he had known for a long time.

Grantaire died on Enjolras' birthday. The first of December, just before it started to rain. It didn't snow all winter. It was just an annoying cold and constant rain. As if even heaven itself was weeping over the one it had lost. For the first time, Enjolras decided to go to church and talk about everything that bothered his soul. And Mabeuf sat there listening intently, ready to be his support for Enjolras.

"I met his sister. In the cemetery," said Enjolras as he pulled a ring from his pocket, which he rolled between his fingers several times. "She's grown up," he laughed. "She is beautiful…"

"Did you talk to her?"

"Yes," said Enjolras, closing his eyes. "It was hard, but we talked."

"Did you tell her about it?"

Enjolras looked at the ring between his fingers again. "Yes. I did."

"How did she react?"

"Good," he said with a smile. "She said it was only a matter of time before I married Grantaire. It's a pity I couldn't ask him before… ” He cleared his throat. He accepted the fact that Grantaire had died. But his heart, still after three years, was still not reconciled. "I wanted to give her the ring. Finally get rid of it. It never belonged to me, it was supposed to be Grantaire's. So let it be in their family."

"Then why do you still have it?"

Enjolras paused for a moment. "She told me to keep it. Because I'm already their family.” Mabeuf smiled and looked out the window to see Enjolras. He was smiling. With tears in his eyes, he looked at the ring and pressed it tightly between his fingers. "She said I'm her brother now. And I always have been. She just kept it as a surprise after the wedding. When it's official."

"I said you had nothing to worry about."

"You were right."

They both paused for a moment. "Is that all you wanted to tell me?"

"I'm not going to see you this Christmas dinner, Father." He looked out the window and their eyes met. "I will…" He smiled. "I will be with them. With Grantaire's sister, her husband and children. She said that they’re looking forward to seeing their uncle."

"I wish you the best, son."

"Thank you, Father." Enjolras rose from his seat. "Thank you for always being here for me." He placed the ring on the board in front of the window. "I know that material gifts don't tell you anything, but please - take it. As a memory of him.” By the time Mabeuf could protest, Enjolras was gone.

Mabeuf waited until he heard the door slam and stepped out of the confessional. He reached the part where Enjolras had been a moment ago and took the ring in his hands. It was made by Enjolras’ wish, with engraving of flowers and sword, with dedication. It was still hot from the way Enjolras guarded it in his warmth and heart. "I will protect you," Mabeuf said as he clenched the ring in his fist and placed it on his chest. The moment he began to say his prayer, the church heard a loud organ singing.


	6. Tradition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would you also like such a Christmas tradition? :)

"It should be somewhere… oh, here!" Grantaire ran to the front door of the apartment complex and began looking at the number above the door. He examined it from all sides, but saw nothing special about it. He frowned. He looked at the paper he held in his left hand and scratched his hair with other one. "I'm sure this is it," he said, turning to his friend on the sidewalk.

Enjolras looked at him with a stony face, blinked slowly, and sighed. His hands were folded in his pockets and he felt his ears freeze. Just before they left Musain's cafe, the temperature dropped three degrees and it began to snow. He forgot his hat at home, and although Grantaire offered him his, he refused. He believed that the journey wouldn’t take long enough for him to become cold. But he was no longer feeling the tips of his ears and toes. The scarf did not cover his entire neck, and he felt flakes spread on his hot skin. "I don’t think so," he said abruptly.

"Don’t worry! We have to work it out, we still have a chance to win!” With that, he returned to examining the number.

Enjolras rolled his eyes, kicked a few inches of snow off the curb, and sat on it. It seemed to him that the cold on the ground was a little stronger. He shivered and tried to curl into a small ball to accumulate some heat. He looked at his watch. It was four o'clock in the afternoon. The sun was slowly setting. The cold was getting stronger. The moment it started to snow again, his phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket and sighed as he read the name on the display - Jehan. "I hear you," he said softly.

“ _ Enjolras! Where are you and Grantaire? Even Bossuet and Bahorel are here already _ !”

"I'm sorry, we're kind of…" He turned to look behind him, where Grantaire hadn't given up his search for the number. "... stuck," he added.

"Let me tell you - go to the mailbox where the Japanese name Takahiro is written, there is a picture of a dolphin."

"Mailbox? Like, inside that apartment building? ”

"No, at the station."

"Should we get there then?"

"…Where are you?"

"In the sixth district of an apartment complex." Laughter came from the other side, accompanied by questions from their friends. As soon as Jehan began to answer them all, they laughed as well. "What is it?" Enjolras asked indignantly.

" _ N-nothing, forgive me, Enjolras _ ," Jehan laughed, and it was clear to the blond that he was wiping tears from the corners of his eyes. " _ First, you're only halfway through the search. You have five more tasks to do. _ ”

"Five?!" Enjolras shouted and sighed. This also attracted Grantaire, who finally stopped walking around the entrance and walked over to Enjolras. He sat down next to him and looked at him questioningly. Enjolras returned his gaze, but put his finger to his mouth to indicate that he needed to listen.

" _ Second, you're kind of somewhere else. And I'm sure Valteri, who is waiting for you at the seventh stop, will have his pub closed a long time ago. I'm afraid you won't make it today, _ " Jehan laughed again.

"I understand."

" _ We're in a Corinth, do you know where it is? _ "

"Yes."

" _ Come. We miss you here _ . "

" _ We want to hear how you screwed up _ !" Bossuet laughed aloud.

" _ You have nothing to laugh at, look at yourself! _ " Joly shouted protectively at him.

" _ There's a bit of chaos _ ," Jehan added.

"We'll be there in a minute," Enjolras said, not even saying goodbye and turning off the call. "We lost," he told him.

Grantaire sighed sadly. He shrugged immediately, put his elbows on his knees, and looked ahead at the setting sun. "Shame."

It all started three years ago. At that time, Jehan was left alone for the first time at Christmas, so all of the Friends of the Alphabet decided that he had to cheer him up. They met at the Musain Café and told him that each of them would do one thing he wanted. Bahorel lamented that the youngest member of their group would certainly take advantage, but Grantaire warned him that, unlike them, he was still quite innocent. Jehan, who had had his pupils dilated with excitement ever since and was writing down all his various ideas in his notebook, then suddenly shouted, "Treasure hunters!"

So, a week before Christmas, they met again at Musain Café, where Jehan gave them instructions. They split into pairs and searched for Paris for a lost treasure. Jehan usually prepared ten stops for them, at which they had to complete a task, and he led them to a successful end. Jehan always waited there, with a small price, a baked bun and warm grog. Until the night, they told each other the stories they had experienced along the way and laughed so loudly that the owners often shouted at them to calm down a little. "And aren't you sad you weren't with us?" Enjolras asked him then.

"Exactly opposite! I'm glad you had such a great time thanks to me!” He laughed.

And so it became an imaginary tradition, which they always fulfilled before Christmas, before each of them went to their homeland to celebrate the holidays with their family. Since they were playing for the third year, Jehan prepared a small change for them this time. Unlike his friends being divided into pairs at their own discretion, he divided them himself. Everyone was tired of Enjolras and Feuilly winning, while Joly and Bossuet were always the last to arrive with almost an hour's delay and a few bruises. "Jehan, no," Enjolras said seriously, glaring at him. He knew very well the soft red that had spilled over his cheeks, and the smirk that marked only one thing — he wanted to put it together with Grantaire.

"Yes," Jehan said with a laugh, turning to Grantaire. "Team number one - Enjolras and Grantaire!" The blond tilted his head so hard that he almost fell into a blanket of snow, while the brunette laughed heartily and had to light a cigarette to calm his heart.

"I'm not giving this to you," Enjolras whispered seriously as he took instructions from Jehan. Grantaire was his friend and he certainly didn't want to look like he didn't mind spending time with him; but he knew what Jehan wanted to do. He didn't want to spend time together. But to get them together.

It was an open secret that Grantaire liked Enjolras. And Enjolras? In fact, he had no idea how he felt about Grantaire. He wasn't his friend, like Combeferre, who could confide in even the darkest secret, or Courfeyrac, who could cheer him up even at your worst moment. He was something like Feuilly when he first met him and his heart pounded and his knees shook. He had been feeling that feeling for the last six months, when all the looks Grantaire had given him finally began to make sense. He didn't want to admit that he might fall in love — it always seemed like one big stupidity to celebrate love and infatuation — so he sometimes distanced himself from Grantaire. He wanted a space between them that no one would fall into. He didn't want to do anything stupid.

But there were also their friends and especially Jehan, who would be able to kill for love. As he focused more on them and noticed Enjolras's changes, all the dark plans he held inside awoke in his mind. And he had one goal - to get his friends together.

Today was supposed to be his triumph, perhaps he hoped that in the adrenaline intoxication of victory they would both fall into each other's arms and kiss right outside the doorway. But instead they stayed somewhere in the sixth precinct, where he had never been before, with frostbitten legs and a sad friend by his side.

Sad…

Enjolras turned to Grantaire and inspected him. For him, these playing days meant a lot to him. He always felt a little closer with his friends. For the past few years, he had always paired with Courfeyrac, and each time they arrived at their destination, the clock told them what they had experienced and what had amused them along the way. Even Enjolras laughed heartily at their stories.

But now it seemed Grantaire would have nothing to talk about. They were both silent for almost the whole time. Grantaire tried to impress Enjolras with his interpretation of architecture, politics, and art, but over time that didn't work. He lit a cigarette twice and got lost five times. He didn't know if it was more the fault of a brunette who didn't quite understand the tasks, or Enjolras, who was behind the lead because he knew Paris like the back of his hand.

"We lost," the blond repeated, and Grantaire looked at him. He nodded and wanted to say something as Enjolras pulled a little closer to him and poked his shoulder into his. "But it was fun, wasn't it?"

"Well," Grantaire began, but immediately laughed.

Enjolras joined his smile and sighed. "Yeah, we didn't do very well."

"Not at all," the brunette laughed, pressing himself harder on the blond. Their thighs rubbed against each other. Enjolras moved a little closer until their thighs were pressed against each other. They both shivered under the heat. "It's really cold now," Grantaire whispered, noticing how close they were.

"It is," Enjolras agreed, looking deep into Grantaire's eyes. He was sure he saw in them a flash of something that caused him another surge of tremor. "We should go," he said rather than do something stupid. He got up from his seat and took a step forward. He stopped immediately and turned back to his friend, who was slowly rising from the ground. "Just…"

"Yes?"

"Don't think I didn't enjoy it. It was fun. Basically."

"Basically?" Grantaire laughed, asking what could have been fun on their quiet, failed day.

"I found out, for example, that you can't count."

"Come on, I never hid that."

"But I really didn't expect you wouldn’t be able to calculate ten minus seven times four."

"These are insidious puzzles!"

"Oh, sure."

"Says one who couldn’t remember the name of the first president of the republic."

"I just forgot it!" Enjolras began to defend himself, blushing.

" _ Oh, sure _ ," said Grantaire with Enjolras's accent, earning one nudge to his side.

All the way to the Corinthian pub, they blamed each other with a smile on their faces for what they had failed to do. When they opened the pub door and their friends noticed their wide smiles and red faces, they asked with interest, "What happened?"

They both looked at each other, smiled, and Grantaire took a deep breath, saying, "So, from the beginning..."


	7. Your winter headcanon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here it is, the last part of today’s week is also last story for Les Misérables this year. :) I wish you a beautiful holiday, a lot of peace and quiet and see you again in the new year with more stories. I hope you are as happy as I am. :)

Christmas Eve. The night the family sat down at the same table at a gala dinner. The night when everyone unwrapped a gift under the tree, which he gave him with love from the other person. A night when tears of happiness and emotion ran down his cheeks. A night that has been named so many times as one of the most important nights in human life.

It was the day Grantaire left his apartment at four in the afternoon and returned to it in the morning to sleep from an exhausting night. Grantaire always left before the sun set. He walked two streets from his apartment until he reached a small lake where, despite the cold and freezing weather, several ducks were swimming, mostly in pairs. He envied their warm and always cursed when he forgot his gloves or hat at home. Whenever the sun began to set and the sky slowly turned dark blue, he went for a walk around Paris. He looked out at the windows, enjoyed their smiles, and listened to the voices singing Christmas carols. He admired the lights on the trees, on the houses, on the railings. As if the lights soothed his sad soul for a moment. He never bought anything along the way, even though he walked through every market that was already attracted from a distance by the delicious smell of alcohol and fried food. Whenever it was around nine in the evening, everyone seemed to be going to bed. Paris fell silent - only lights and a sense of euphoria remained. At that moment, Grantaire was returning to the street where he lived. Not to go to his apartment. On the same street, at the end where it was crossing with three others, was the Musain Café. He had been attending this more often than he had since joining the _Les Ámis_. This time, however, he entered the cozy cafe alone. The lights were turned low, a candle was burning on each table, and the owner walked around the tables, laughing at them all, and for each newcomer, she had a small gift in her pocket — mostly a candle she had made herself, and it smelled wonderful. Mrs. Houchelope's husband died in a serious car accident six years ago. After her only daughter decided to marry in Australia, she lived alone in Paris. She was happy, but she always grieved on Christmas Day for her husband, whom no one could return to her, and her daughter, who had been writing her letters with hopeful words for the last three years - _I will be here soon!_ \- which she never fulfilled. And so that she wouldn't feel so alone and forget about the pain in her heart, she had the cafe open until the morning hours, when she fell into the duvet with fatigue and the next day was as normal, cheerful, and pleasant as the days before. Grantaire did not miss a year.

Even today, he sat in his typical place, right next to a glass wall that looked out over a small square. The darkness was pierced by the light of lamps illuminating the falling snow flakes. Several windows in the area were decorated with colored lights. Pleasant - but not Christmas - music played in the café. Madam talked to each customer for a while, stroking the hair of some clients she had seen for several years. She smiled at Grantaire from a distance and always brought him another glass of the delicious red wine he loved so much. They never said anything to each other, because she knew she needed the same peace as she did. Of all the people left in her life, the brunette seemed to understand her the most.

As years before, Grantaire painted. His hand moved freely on the paper, painting everything he could think of. Portraits of people he saw in a cafe. The little monsters that drove through his dreams that night. Tiny drawings of dreams, which he had almost forgotten under the weight of real life. Every time he returned home in the morning, his sketch was all drawn and hid in a closet he never pulled out. Everything he painted that night was too real, alive and raw. He didn't want to admit that he was still capable of such powerful emotions. And so, only one day a year, he let them flow freely, so that he could play his learned role so well throughout the next year.

As he turned the page on another blank sheet, he placed the sketchbook on the table and drank the wine. He looked out the window and admired the snowflakes dancing in a small gust of wind. He watched as they fell gracefully to the ground, glistened and gave the nights an almost ethereal touch. As…

Grantaire frowned, set the glass on the table, and squinted in front of him. It seemed to him that someone was approaching the cafe, and he was sure that the brown coat, the black scarf and gloves, the blond hair; he knows all too well. "Enjolras," he whispered softly, looking at the door just as it opened with a clang.

"Mr. Enjolras," said Madam Houchelope enthusiastically, noticing another familiar face. "I have your order ready for you. It's in the back, in the warehouse. I'm going for it right now."

"Thank you," he said with a smile, resting his hands on the counter and waiting for Madam to return. Meanwhile, he looked around the cafe as if seeing her for the first time. He smiled absently and drummed his fingers on the rhythm that reached Grantaire's ears. When his blue eyes found Grantair, he jerked slightly.

"Hello," Grantaire greeted him weakly, raising his hand in greeting.

Enjolras studied him for a moment before bouncing slightly off the counter and walking to the table where Grantair was sitting. "Hello," he greeted him with a slight smile. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm celebrating Christmas," the brunette replied, raising a glass of wine. "You?" He asked, a little curiously.

"I'm picking up the cake I ordered here a week ago."

"Oh, Christmas wouldn't be Christmas without a good dose of sweet."

"Well, actually—"

"Mr. Enjolras." They both looked at the madam, who suddenly appeared at their table. "Here."

"Thank you," Enjolras repeated, opening the box so he could look at the cake. He inhaled his scent and smiled. "Is beautiful. Thank you very much again."

"You don't have to thank me," she said with a smile as she stroked his strong arm. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"Well," said Enjolras, looking at Grantaire, who looked at him questioningly. "Maybe I'd have tea with someone if—"

"Sure, sit down," Grantaire didn't let the blond finish, pointing to a spot in front of him.

"As always?" She asked the younger madam.

"As always," he confirmed as he laid the box of cake on the table and began to take off his thick, brown coat. "What are you painting?" He asked as he landed in front of Grantaire, placed his elbows on the table, and leaned slightly to look at his friend's work.

"Nothing right now," the brunette laughed, pointing to a blank page. "I need some inspiration."

"And you're looking for her in wine?"

"That's always the biggest inspiration!"

Madam was walking around their table, placing tea in front of one of her favorite customers and looking at Grantair. "Do you want another glass?"

"I'll have a cup of coffee."

"Oh, so you're planning to be here until closing time," she laughed as she walked back past the bar.

Enjolras poured two teaspoons of sugar into his cup and asked, “The closing time? I thought it was open until seven in the morning at Christmas."

"Exactly," Grantaira confirmed, focusing on the blank page in front of him. His eyes kept sliding to Enjolras's lips, which were a little darker in the light of the room, giving them a wider shape. He swallowed dry as he saw them catch the rim of the cup. They looked beautiful. He always liked to look at them. They looked like they were painted by the best painter.

Enjolras frowned and placed the cup back in front of him. Several questions popped into his head. He knew he had a younger sister he poems about and loved her more than anyone in the world. He hoped to celebrate Christmas with her when he had always loved her so much. But he preferred not to say anything. He was afraid he would hurt the brunette. If he decided to spend Christmas alone, he must have had a reason.

"Feel free to ask," Grantaire laughed as he looked at Enjolras again.

He blinked in confusion, but immediately returned the smile and asked, "Your sister...?"

"They didn't let her out of the hospital."

"Oh," Enjolras whispered, glancing at the cup again. He remembered Grantaire talking a few weeks ago about how she fell from her bike directly on her head. But he thought it would be okay. "I hope it's nothing—"

"Nothing serious. It'll only be better if she's under surveillance. At least a few more weeks. We can make up for Christmas at any time."

"You're right."

"What about you? Why are you wandering around Paris in the evening?” Enjolras pointed to a box of cake. "Yeah, but don't you happen to live in Provence? Or have your parents finally decided to spend the day with you in unpopular Paris?” His parents certainly didn’t share their love for Paris. They saw it only as a filthy city soaked in alcohol, immorality, and politics. They weren’t far from the truth. But it was nothing for their conservative and old-fashioned views, according to which they lived. Enjolras, unlike them, could not only wade in these waters, but also swim as if it were his lifelong goal. Grantaire was a little jealous of him. He had to get used to Paris. But Enjorlas didn’t - he was a Parisian in his soul from birth.

"Somehow we didn't make it," the blond said vaguely. "I’m okay with it," he added before the brunette could comfort him. Everyone knew that Enjolras' relationship with his parents was strange at the very least. They never had much to say, but they always knew that their opinions would always differ and there would be unpleasant and completely unnecessary quarrels. Maybe it was better that everyone celebrated the holidays of peace, love and well-being in solitude.

"Did you want something under the tree?"

"No," Enjolras said truthfully, frowning as Grantaire smiled broadly and took a sketchbook in his hand. "What-"

"How about a portrait from an amateur painter?"

"An amateur, have you ever seen his work?" Madame laughed as she placed coffee in front of Grantair and he thanked her quietly.

"No," said Enjolras truthfully. In fact, he hadn't realized it until now. He knew that Grantaire had studied painting and even made a living selling paintings, but he had never seen his work. He didn’t go to his show, even when his other friends told him about her. It always kind of fell out of his head. "But I'd love to finally see something."

"If you can sit like this for a while," Grantaira suggested, raising an eyebrow.

"Can I read about it?" The blond asked, pointing to a small bookcase the owner had prepared for coffee for customers.

"Sure."

Enjolras had just read the fiftieth page of a romantic story about a man who had a disfigured face with an eternal smile, and was trying to find happiness in Paris when Grantaire laid a pencil on the table and blew paper to sweep away any unnecessary scraps of pencil. "Done," he said happily.

"May I?" Enjolras asked as he set the book down on the table, perhaps too quickly, and reached for the paper with his hand. Grantaire just nodded and handed him the paper. Enjolras looked at him with interest and…

He didn't know what to say. He wanted to praise Grantaire before he saw the result. He wanted to tell the brunette that he was good, even though he didn't see anything from him. He was strangely sure of his qualities.

But he didn’t expect what he saw in front of him. Grantaire painted Enjolras so -  _ unrealistically _ . Enjolras touched the portrait with his fingers and carefully circled every fold Grantaire made on the paper so as not to smudge the pencil. This couldn't be him. He just couldn't. He didn't have such big eyes, long lashes. Not even raised cheeks or perhaps shaped lips. His hair was certainly not as fluffy, supple, and curly as Grantaire had portrayed it. He certainly didn't look that way when reading - calm, relaxed and…

Enjolras dry swallowed. He looked  _ beautiful _ .

"Do you like it?" Grantaire asked uncertainty, feeling as the blond had been silent for too long.

"Y-yes," breathed Enjolras, keeping his eyes on the portrait.

"I'm glad." Grantaire felt blood rush to his face. Surely he began to blush under the praise - albeit a short one. It was enough for him to react to the blonde. He drank his coffee quickly so that he could turn the red color on his face to hot coffee that had long been cold. He forgot about it.

"I should give you something, too," Enjolras said seriously as he laid the portrait on the table. He thought. His eyes immediately rested on the cake box.

Grantaire followed his gaze. "Jesus, no. Keep that. "

"No, I'd love to share with you," he said truthfully, reaching for the box. He opened the lid a little, peered under it, and immediately looked at Grantair and said seriously, "But you won't tell anyone."

Grantaire grinned. "What? That you gave me a piece of cake? Why should it be a secret?” Immediately, Enjolras opened the box and turned it over to Grantaire so he could inspect the cake. It was all white, complemented by a few delicate marzipan flowers. And at the very top it was written— "Happy birthday. It's your birthday?!" cried Grantaire, who slammed on the table in surprise. Enjolras jumped up in fright, as did the other customers in the cafe. Grantaire quietly apologized to them, and as soon as everyone noticed the plates and mugs in front of him, he focused again on Enjolras: "Birthday?!"

"Strange, isn't it? Celebrate them on the same day as Christmas..."

"W-why don't I know anything?!" Grantaire asked indignantly, leaning back in his chair. "We and the boys and I could buy you something, have a party, or—"

"Nobody knows about it."

"Like…" Grantaire paused. It was true. Enjolras never spoke of his birthday. In fact, he didn't even celebrate them. No one congratulated him. Apparently no one - not even his closest friend Combeferre - knew. "Why?"

"I don't like celebrations," Enjolras said truthfully. "But I love cakes." They both laughed out loud, and when their eyes stopped burning with happiness, Enjolras asked again, "Would you like some?"

"Of course," Grantaire replied.

Finally, at three o'clock in the morning, during another batch of snow, they left together. They talked until they came in front of Grantaire's house and thanked each other for being able to spend the Christmas day in peace and quiet that they hadn’t experienced in a long time. When Grantaire reached his apartment, he immediately made a note on a piece of paper - it would never happen to him that he forgot about Enjolras' birthday. Because he decided to celebrate them with him from now on.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr [2WNikiAngel](http://www.2wnikiangel.tumblr.com).


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